


Grin and Bear It

by krdkennedy



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Consent, Geralt drinks his respect women juice, No Onscreen Sex, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:09:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29979246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krdkennedy/pseuds/krdkennedy
Summary: Geralt has had a terrible day. Liliana is going to have a great one.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Grin and Bear It

Liliana is the one to see the witcher arrive, on a cool morning in late spring. It’s early enough in the morning that the night’s fog still fills the streets. The witcher rides in, the fog swirling around his horse’s legs, and it makes him look even more otherworldly than usual. Liliana watches from the second-story window for a few minutes, before turning away and calling down the stairs to the others.

The rules are simple enough. Weronika won the draw last time, so she’s automatically excluded, and traditionally is the one responsible for holding the straws for this draw. Any of the women who are not on duty when the witcher is sighted are also excluded. This time, that leaves Liliana and three others. Weronika prepares the straws, marking one with a bit of blue dye, while the four of them watch to make sure it’s done properly. 

“Close your eyes, ladies,” Weronika instructs, and once they’ve all obeyed, there’s a pause, then, “All right.” She holds out her hands, clasped together with the straws between. They each take a straw. Yulia looks at hers and curses roundly. Zofia flops down into the elderly armchair. Natalia just sighs; Urszula pats her shoulder sympathetically. 

And Liliana— Liliana looks down at the straw in her hand, smile spreading across her face as the others realize none of them drew the marked straw. Liliana did.

Zofia gets up and shoves Liliana’s shoulder. “You lucky dog!”

Liliana huffs out a laugh. “Not that lucky if it took me this long to win a draw.”

Natalia, the newest of them, sighs again. “I’ve _never_ won.”

“He’ll keep coming back,” Urszula says. “Lots of work in the area for his kind.”

The others drift away, leaving Liliana and Weronika. Weronika collects the straws and deposits them on the side table. “You can have this room if you like,” she offers. 

Liliana looks up at her, startled. It’s the nicest of the house’s six rooms, and Weronika, as the most senior of today’s team, would normally have taken it for herself by default. Weronika sees her expression and smiles. “I want you to have a good time.”

Liliana suppresses a smile of her own. “I think that’s a given, with this one. Well—” she pauses and corrects herself— “assuming he does come here after all. It’s not like he’s required to, just because he’s in town.”

Weronika rolls her eyes. “When does he not?”

Liliana bites her lip and looks down. “True.”

“I’ll keep anyone else out of your way, and if you want me to direct him towards you so there’s no confusion, I will.”

Liliana nods. “Thanks, Weronika.”

The rest of the day drags on. A few customers trickle in and are seen to by the other women. Liliana alternately works on her mending and sits at the window to watch the street below, amusing herself with the superficial similarity to the blushing maidens of the ballads, waiting for their sweethearts to return from war. 

Then, a few hours after sunset, she spots the witcher’s white head, nearly glowing in the dimness of the torchlit street. He approaches the house, moving purposefully, and Liliana watches with her face pressed to the window until he gets too close to see from her angle. She stands and shakes out her arms and legs, full of nervous energy. 

It’s not long before there’s a knock on the door. Liliana composes herself, schooling her face into pleasant neutrality, and opens it.

The witcher stands there, a head taller than Liliana even in her high-heeled shoes. Liliana’s eyes track over him, taking in his broad shoulders, white hair, yellow eyes, and dark leathers, and her heart begins to pound.

This is what the other women had described. This feeling of being close to something wild, inhuman, dangerous. Like seeing a wild animal up close, looking into its eyes and knowing your death could be moments away; or standing too close to a bonfire. Liliana feels her belly clench.

Somehow she gets him inside, offers him a drink, smiles at him as she tries to pretend this is nothing out of the ordinary. He accepts the drink, but will barely look at her. She leans over him where he sits in the armchair and trails her hand up his arm.

Liliana can’t figure him out, yet. This is already more work than she normally has to put in to get things started. It’s not like he didn’t know what kind of business he walked into.

She decides to stop being subtle. She drops herself in his lap and drapes her arms over his shoulders. She feels his arms slide underneath her and he stands, lifting her without any apparent effort, and moves towards the bed with her in his arms. _There_ we go, Liliana thinks with some relief as she lands on the bed. She has just started to tug at the fastenings of his clothes when he suddenly stops.

His face is turned away from her, towards the bedside table. She follows his line of sight and sees the discarded straws. He looks back at her, his yellow eyes very close to hers, and then he’s pulling away. It takes Liliana a moment to realize he’s not just standing to undo some of his innumerable fastenings— there’s a stiff set to his shoulders that looks like anger, or stress.

“You draw straws,” he says, low. “To see who has to— attend to me.” He looks at her. “And you lost?”

Liliana has completely lost track of the situation. “I— not exactly—"

The witcher glares at her. “This isn’t going to work. You’re afraid of me.”

Liliana blinks. “How do you know that?”

His lips press together in an unhappy line, but he says “I can tell. Your heartbeat and your smell.”

That… makes as much sense as anything, Liliana thinks. Witchers must have heightened senses to be able to do what they do. She shakes that off and returns to the more important issue. “Hold on. Are you saying you won’t have sex with me because you think I don’t want it?”

He turns away from her and starts to move to the door. “I won’t have a woman who’s afraid of me.”

“Stop,” Liliana snaps, surprising herself. This is _not_ how she thought this night was going to go. “Look at me.”

She assembles words in her head, trying to judge what will make sense and not offend him. “I’m going to talk to you for a minute as just a person, not as the person you came here to have sex with. Humans are… weird. We like things that aren’t good for us. We like doing dangerous things for fun. Have you ever seen a man strap two pieces of wood to his feet to slide down a snowy mountain, risking breaking every bone in his body, for the thrill of the speed and the wind in his hair? We’re all like that, to a greater or lesser extent. I’m not at liberty to discuss the things clients here have asked me to do, but to give you some nonspecific examples, knives, ropes, and fire have all been involved. We seek out danger because controlled fear is exciting. We _love_ combining our pleasure with our fear, sexually or not. So yes, we drew straws to see who would _attend_ to you tonight. And I _won._ ”

He’s watching her face and listening, and she sees a flicker of recognition when she describes human attraction to danger. He would have seen it in people before, she guesses; he’s just never connected it to sex. 

“So,” Liliana says, and stands up from the bed to move towards him. “Yes, I’m afraid of you. You make my heart race and my breath come faster.” It’s true; even as she says it, the closer proximity to him is affecting her. “My mind tells me you’re dangerous, that you could kill me without even trying. That you’re not quite of this world.” She reaches for the first of several buckles on his jerkin, and lets her fingertips rest on it. Her lips quirk into a smile. “And my memories tell me that you have had sex with several of my colleagues in the past and entirely failed to kill them or do anything unnatural to them. So it’s probably fine.” She tugs at the buckle, and it comes undone. He doesn’t stop her.

Weronika had, if anything, undersold the experience, Liliana thinks afterward. Or maybe, she thinks with a little curl of smug pleasure, it really was better for her than it had been for Weronika. It can go like that when you make a real connection with a client. She lies in the bedclothes and watches the witcher reassemble his clothing.

He casts her a glance as if he’s still trying to figure something out. “Forgive me,” he says eventually. “But I was under the impression that being paid to do something, no matter what it is, takes the pleasure out of it.”

“Broadly true,” Liliana says. “But anyone in any profession will tell you there are times when the work is more fun— because you’re working on something interesting, because you’re working with people you like, or just because you’re in a good mood.” She scrunches her nose and smiles at him. “You’re the exciting part of this job.”

He looks like he’s considering that, and nods. He finishes getting dressed and pulls a leather purse from his pocket. He counts out a number of coins and holds them out to her. “I paid the madam already, but these are for you.” 

She takes them, making sure to brush her hands against his. “Thank you. I hope to see you again soon.”

He looks her over, eyes lingering a little, and actually gives her a smile— small, but real, and then he’s gone, the door closing behind him. Liliana smiles into space, and starts looking for her clothes.


End file.
